


Shrek AU Ficlet: Secrets Revealed

by Cacaxa



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Cacaxa, Gen, Gravity Falls - Freeform, M/M, Shrek AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6286231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cacaxa/pseuds/Cacaxa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best laid plans often go awry...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shrek AU Ficlet: Secrets Revealed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Here's another snippet from the bigger fanfic I have planned!
> 
> This takes place after they’ve been on the road for a few days. Fiddleford thinks he’s safe for the night, but Stan’s going to unwittingly derail the plan…

“Hey!” Stan calls, “Where are you? I need to ask you something…”

Fiddleford freezes.

_No…nononononoNO…_

He wasn’t supposed to be back until _later!_ Why did he have to come back _now?_

He acts on pure instinct, quickly taking advantage of his form’s reduced size to attempt to hide in the bottom of the closet. Compacting himself as tightly as he possibly can, one thought burns in his brain:

_Please don’t look in here please don’t look in here dear GOD please don’t look in here…_

“Hmm… I thought he’d be here by now…”

Just when Fiddleford thinks he can breathe a sigh of relief, his luck wears out- Stan's heading straight for the closet.

“Well, might as well make myself at home ‘till he’s back…”

Fiddleford desperately tries to pull a blanket over himself, but he can’t react fast enough- the door’s open and Stan’s looking him straight in the face, giving off a startled scream.

“…Who the hell are you?!” Stan near yells, clearly confused. “What’re you doing in my _room?”_

He’s going to cause a ruckus if he doesn’t stop yelling- and that’ll just lead to more people coming to investigate what’s going on. Fiddleford knows he has to get him to stop.

“No, no, hush, Stan, it’s just me!”

It’s clearly not helping. Stan’s ranting on about how h  must be some kind of crazy intruder- so Fiddleford takes a different approach, quickly grabbing him by the face to make Stan look him in the eye:

“It’s me-Fidds.”

Stan gradually stops quickly changing his expression.  Fiddleford can’t help but feel scrutinized, yet he give Stan a soft-but clearly self-conscious- smile.

“…Fidds?” Stan asks, his voice barely above a whisper, “God, what happened to you? You’re-uh-”

“…I know,” Fiddleford interjects, “I’m _ugly.”_

Stan looks away for a second. “…Well, I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think anyone’s gonna think you’re a looker, but really! Did you get your hands on something that made you _high?_ Because I really don’t think that was such a great idea, it’s made you age something _terrible-”_

“No!” Fiddleford protests, “I’ve- I’ve been this way fer years…”

“What do you mean by _that?"_ Stan asks, "I’ve _never_ seen you like this…”

“It’s the triangle what done did it!” Fiddleford exclaims.

“Wait- a…a triangle?” Stan asks, his voice incredulous. “A _triangle_ did this to you?”

“Yeah!”  Fiddleford pipes in, “That mean ol’ triangle done put a spell on me, and now every night I'm…” He looks away from Stan’s gaze, “…I’m this.”

He curls away from Stan, pulling his hat’s brim over his eyes. Vulnerable, small, and weak, there’s nothing else he can do.

_“Please,”_ you beg, tears threatening to come and choke your words, “Just _go…”_

But Stan doesn’t do anything. And when he finally moves, it’s to do something Fiddleford doesn't expect.

He kneels down to Fiddleford's level, lifts his chin up softly, and doesn’t run. Doesn’t hoot about how ridiculous he seems or looks or sounds. Doesn’t mock.

It damn near shakes Fiddleford to his core.

“Yer not…yer not laughin’ at me…” He whispers.

Stan looks confused. “Why do you think I would?” he asks, “I don’t see anything to laugh at.”

“…How can ya reckon that?” Fiddleford challanges, disgust for himself clear in his tone. “Just look at me-" he waves a hand over himself- "No good to nobody. I’m not _m'self._ Ya want _him,_ not _me.”_

Stan looks thoughtful. “…You’re right. I _don’t_ want you-”

Fiddleford looks away.

_I knew it._

“-Because I want _all_ of you.”

He freezes.

“Look," Stan starts,"  I won’t pretend like this isn’t strange, ok? But come on-at least you’re only like this at night, and you’re _still_ the guy I’ve been getting to know, no matter what you look or act or sound like-you’re just…” He pauses, trying to find the right word, “Different.”

Fiddleford can’t help the hurt look that comes across his face. “Different” has left him isolated. “Different” has only led to rejection and stares and ridicule.

He doesn't _want_ to be “different” anymore.

“I’m not going to leave you alone, ok?” Stan says, soft as could be. “I know my brother can help-the guy’s a _genius,_ he’ll find a way to fix you, if that’s really what you want.”

He gently puts his hands on your knobby shoulders and looks Fiddleford dead in the eyes.

“Trust me?”

Despite himself, Fiddleford gives a small nod.

“Now, let’s get you out of there and off to sleep- I think we both need it.”

He accept Stan's outstretched hand, allowing himself to be pulled up from his sitting position. As he's moved, Fiddleford can hear Stan’s soft muttering to himself:

“I just know that after this is over, I’m gonna need a _whole_ lot of serious therapy…”


End file.
